You know, the drug that took out Prince and Tom Petty.
It was routine surgery. For a Cataract. 20 minute outpatient procedure.
I was initially a little concerned when the surgeon said they wouldn’t put me under with general anesthesia. I assumed it’s to save money. Anesthesiologists ain’t cheap.
My inner voice freaked out: “Put me out! Wake me up when it’s over.”
I edited that thought outwardly to say I was “uncomfortable” having someone work operate on my eye while awake.
They weren’t budging.
Day of surgery. Arrive 7:45 at Dartmouth Hitchcock hospital.
Any doubts I had melted away when I met my nurse Bridget. A warm smile. Late 40’s. Empathetic. She referred to the outpatient surgical center as “Pleasantville.”
All the fun of Surgery without the Dying.
She was curious about me.
“You have such a wonderful voice, what do you do?”
Please be advised that I’m a sucker for anyone who pretends they are interested in me. We talked a little about Radio and Maple Syrup and I almost forgot why I was there.
That was her job. She was great at it.
But I finally got up the nerve to ask about anesthesia. Could I get some?
“Sure. There’s an anesthesiologist on staff if you want it. But you won’t need it. You’ll awake, but in a Twilight Zone.” And she said something about an amnesia effect.
They cover your face. Everything except the eye, which after all the local numbing drops I couldn’t see out of anyway.
The last thought I remember having was:
“I feel great! Go ahead and stick a knife in my eye!”
